


Smart Casual

by dorkery



Series: Hey Mary! (or something like that) [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Football (Soccer), Octopi & Squid, Operas, Restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'll never let him do what he wants, not even on a date.</p><p>Part of the fem!Prussia arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smart Casual

Prussia checked her wristwatch again, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Where the hell was that giant lug of muscle? He wasn’t exactly late (they never were) but he was taking _forever_. She’d spent all of ten minutes picking out and throwing on her outfit and had been waiting on him for close to an hour already. Impatiently, she stomped up the stairs and rapped on his door rapidly.

A muffled (and slightly panicked) response greeted her from the other side.

“What the hell are you doing in there, putting on a tampon?”

“… just a minute…”

She rolled her eyes. He’d ‘just a minuted’ her half an hour ago. Without ceremony, she threw the door open to the sight of a thoroughly flustered Germany in front of the full-length mirror with a turned up collar and three ties in both hands held up against his shirt. She raised her eyebrows at him and he flushed. Really? He’d taken this long just to pick out a tie? What a _girl_.

“Fucking hell, it’s not like we’re attending a baptism.”

“I know _that_ , I just…”

“Just what? Spent an hour wondering if robin’s egg or periwinkle best matched your eyes? Fucking- Give me _that_ ,” she overrode his protests and tossed his ties aside to much indignant sputtering. What she did, instead, was to grab his blazer and wave it in front of his face until he wore it. Then, she fixed his collar and undid the top button. Prussia stepped back, surveying his look with a measure of satisfaction.

“There. Smart casual. Every heard of it, numb nuts?”

Germany looked at his reflection uncertainly before glancing at her again.

“Look, this was your idea. I’m not going to go out with you in full business mode, got it? And don’t you dare button up that jacket.”

Germany’s hands stilled. He quickly dropped them to his sides.

“I… I suppose you may be right.”

“Always right,” she corrected immediately, opening the door and gesturing him out. “Are you seriously going out with that gel helmet?”

He frowned but didn’t reply.

Downstairs, Germany thoroughly went through a checklist and made sure he had his keys and that his cellular phone was on silent mode. He made sure the dogs were fed and the stove was off and all the pedantic things he normally engaged in while Prussia put some light make up on in the bathroom and found her stilettos. She grabbed a cardigan, wearing it over her little black dress, and shoved her things into her handbag. By the time she was waiting by the entrance, Germany was finally done and she offered her arm to him with a shit-eating grin. He scowled in response, opening the door and letting her out. They took the car and Germany drove them to the theatre.

Prussia bought them a programme while he fished out the tickets Austria had gotten him, eyeing them warily. It was an opera and he really wasn’t one for things like music and dancing. He hadn’t told Prussia exactly what they were going to be attending but it was doubtless that she knew now and he was loath to think of the earful he’d be getting from her throughout the performance. On the other hand, once she was done chewing him out, her commentary was usually extraordinarily funny. There was that. As she approached him, nose buried in the programme, he braced himself.

She glanced up at him, frowning lightly.

“Well? Where are we sitting?”

“Oh, uh,” Germany was slightly caught off-guard. “We have a box.”

Prussia took his arm as the crowd in the lobby began to swell and they walked up the stairs to their box, navigating around the other theatre-goers.

They had the box to themselves and it was a pretty luxurious one. Germany sat stiffly in his plush, velvet seat, fists clenched on his knees and back upright, still waiting for the upbraiding. Nervously, he glanced from the corner of his eye to see Prussia relaxing, legs crossed, thumbing through the programme, occasionally lingering on a page.

The house lights darkened. She set her things down and crossed her arms as she looked over the balcony and at the stage. As the opening act began, Germany found himself hovering tentatively over his words.

“I,” he swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d like this.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “You wouldn’t take me out to something you’d think I hate _unless_ you were having it inflicted on you.”

Germany swallowed again, glad the darkness of the theatre hid his deeply embarrassed flush.

Prussia smiled, eyes still on the stage.

“Obvious ploy is obvious, West. Anyway, you’ll probably like this one. It’s about Alexander the Great.”

“… even though it’s called Cléofide?”

“Dumbass, Cléofide’s the Indian princess who tries to rescue India from Alexander’s conquest.”

“Rather a successful outcome,” he snorted.

“No kidding.”

They fell silent as the opera went on. It wasn’t particularly bad but he could barely make out the lyrics and, from time to time, Prussia would tell him what was going on. It didn’t really make him more interested in it, but it made watching it easier. As the stage cleared for the next scene, he leaned back into his seat and turned to her.

“I didn’t really take you for an opera kind of person.”

“Well, I’m not really,” she admitted quietly with a shrug, glancing at Germany. “But some of the stories make it bearable. And this one is kind of a… landmark opera, you could say.”

Germany was quiet for a moment, a slightly unhappy feeling causing him to chew on his lower lip.

“… Let me guess. Old Fritz?”

Prussia grinned at him.

“First one he ever saw.”

“Hn,” Germany turned his attention back to the stage, trying his best not feel disheartened and, as much as he wanted to deny it, _threatened_ by someone who had been dead for nigh 300 years already. It was ridiculous. But try as he might, that was all he thought about. Nothing really registered as the first act came to a close. He barely realised the house lights come back on during the intermission. Prussia had gotten to her feet to stretch and had, after that, pulled him to stand and led him towards the entrance – or rather, exit – of the theatre.

“Wait, it’s not over yet,” Germany said as he was dragged out into the cool evening air.

“Eh,” Prussia replied. “It wasn’t that good. Between you and me, the best one I ever saw was back in the 1800s by a Viennese group, but don’t tell Pansy McPianopants or I’m going to have to castrate you.”

“But it wasn’t _bad_ , and leaving halfway through a show is rude-”

“ _West_ ,” Prussia spun around, a hand on his chest. “We’re on a _date_ and that shit was boring. When things become shitty on dates, you improve them. It’s not a conference where you have to strictly follow an agenda, all right? There’s no point in doing something both of us aren’t going to enjoy _together_. We’re not getting to know each other so you don’t have to be a silent martyr to impress me. And before you say anything, I’m not going to enjoy something when you’re trying not die of boredom.”

Germany opened his mouth several times to reply.

It took him a while before he finally did.

“… Oh.”

Prussia let out a breath and shook her head.

“See? This is why we don’t go on dates.”

“But,” Germany was quick to protest.

“Yeah, yes, okay, I know, we’ve had this verbally emasculating conversation before,” Prussia rolled her eyes. She wasn’t interested in reviving Germany’s rallying cause for this little debacle they’d been going through throughout the evening (she wasn’t sure if ‘date’ was the appropriate term at this point) and therefore changed the topic to one she was far more interested in to save Germany from the indignity of staring at his shoes.

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go get an early dinner.”

Germany paused before complying.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Steak. And if you’re so adamant on being romantic and shit, I’ll let you wine and dine me at a swanky restaurant.”

“That,” Germany struggled to fish his phone out of his pants to do a quick Internet search for nearby restaurants. “That is doable.”

There was a nice bistro a few streets down and they decided to walk. Germany had taken to burying both his hands in his pockets and kicking at stray pebbles as they talked. Prussia wrapped her cardigan around her.

“You know, you need to stop acting like you’re on your bloody period every time Fritz comes up. I mean, it’s inevitable that I’d associate stuff with him but he’s been gone forever now.”

Germany bit down his initial reaction of denial to that and decided to address her point (which was true).

“I’m not doubting that you’ve moved on, it’s just…”

Prussia looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s stupid.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Germany let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.

“It’s… It’s nothing.”

“It’s stupid, but it’s definitely something,” Prussia said, sliding a hand around his arm and pressing closer against him. “Get it out.”

He watched her briefly before he tried again.

“I’m just… I sometimes wonder if you think he’s better than me.”

“At what?”

“… Everything.”

Prussia smirked grimly and squeezed Germany’s arm. She was tempted to give him a smart reply like she always did but he was being very cute and so decided to be nice for once.

“Don’t worry. That’s never happened.”

“I doubt it.”

“ _Look you-_ I guess you know me better than me, huh? If you’re so damned attuned to yours awesomely, you’d know my priorities by now. Geez, what an idiot.”

Abruptly, Prussia dragged him off the sidewalk and into a nearby park, ignoring his confused protests. When she found a cozy enough bench, she shoved him onto it and sat on his lap, looping her arms around his neck.

“… need I even guess?”

“We’re going to make out until you stop acting like a god damned mouse. And once you and I are both satisfied with your level of manliness – which, if I may say, is at a level slightly below that of a kid who’s wet his bed – we will go and eat steak and have a good time. Got all of that, Debbie Downer, or do I need to state it in a more orderly fashion?”

Germany looked skeptical but was fully aware that he didn’t have much of, if any, choice in the matter. Prussia had a very determined look on her face and he knew better than to stop her when she firmly believed that she was doing this for _his_ benefit. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t have minded including this portion of the evening in their schedule if she’d just told him but refrained. Instead, with a large degree of resignation, he gingerly placed his hands on her hips.

“Fine.”

Prussia smiled at him in that fond way that gave his stomach butterflies and leaned forward to softly press their lips together. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, reciprocating the kiss. It felt… nice. Sweet. She was pressing slow, brief kisses against his mouth, changing the angle from time to time as she pulled him closer and cradled his cheek with one hand. She tasted like strawberries ( _her chapstick_ ) and smelled like flowers ( _her soap_ ). Germany slowly slid a hand up her back and felt her arch into his touch with a pleased hum. He nipped her lip and she parted her mouth for him, letting him rub their tongues together lazily as he held her tightly and deepened the kiss. They parted briefly now and again, content to keep it quiet and tender. He felt her sigh into the kiss and he felt a trickle of temptation to lower her down onto the bench but refrained. Instead, he pulled back slowly from the kiss, looking into her eyes as he pulled her hair back, gently running his fingers down her face until he cupped her chin, rubbing his thumb along her lower lip. She was panting quietly down at him, gaze unbroken.

“Redeemed enough yet?” He asked quietly.

She smiled. “A while ago.”

With a grin, Germany pulled her back in and kissed her soundly, grabbing her and dipping her backwards to a delighted and startled laugh. She wrapped her arms around him to keep from falling, smiling widely into the kiss. They lingered for a little while until Germany swung her back upright and she pressed soft butterfly kisses on his lips as an end. She pulled away and stood up, twining their fingers together, tugging him to get to his feet. He did. They walked the next few streets to the bistro holding hands.

Aside from a quick a reservation, Prussia realised Germany had pulled some strings. Their service was impeccable and their private table had an excellent view of the Dahme River. They were drinking wine with their giant hunks of red meat (the boy was after her own manly heart) and talked idly about the usual; topics ranged from business (“Please stop making paper boats out of the documents in my study.” “What are you talking about? My bird needs his armada for the reenactment of-” “I don’t _care_ , you can’t turn my paperwork on the EMF into a galleon.” “Says you.”) to domesticity (“I am completely fine. I am an excellent task manager.” “Look, if I say I’m going to do the chores, _I’m going to do it_. I’ve told you not shoulder the weight of the world, why are you so stubborn-” “I’ve been doing them since the end of the war, I can _handle it_ , thank you-” “I’m not doing it a courtesy, you idiot.” “Then what?” “I don’t want you to provide for me like some husband; do you know how boring it is to have absolutely nothing required of you? If I didn’t at least walk the dogs everyday, I’d lose it. Would probably set something on fire.” “…Oh. Um, well, you’re an excellent typist, why not apply yourself in the governm-” “ **No thanks.** ”) and, oddly enough, to octopi (“You know, octopus wurst is actually pretty good with beer.” “No kidding. I’ve been eating it with toast, actually.” “Ooh, sounds good.” “Shame we couldn’t get our hands on Paul.” “Hah! I tried sneaking the little shit out but Spain’s such a hardass. Basically made it an armoured aquarium and personally buried the sucker when it kicked it.” “Speaking of that, did you…” “Eh, no dice. Let me tell you, I _wish_ I could’ve been its source of death.” “Oh. I guess it really was me, then.” “ _What._ ”).

Towards the end of the meal, surprise, surprise, she felt a socked foot cheekily sliding up her calf. Germany wore the straightest of straight faces, but he had a subtle smile that didn’t twitch when their eyes met.

 _Huh_ , was the single thought that ran through Prussia’s mind, thoroughly impressed by this new progression. So he was a big boy, after all. She wondered if he was tipsy but she was pretty sure he was nearly almost 100% sober. Her grin spread slowly and she leaned forward, elbows on the table and fingers entwined.

“Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s discovered how to relax.”

Germany stilled momentarily, turning the revelation over in his head, before he smiled at her.

“Want to head back? I have some black forest cake in the fridge.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“No,” he laughed, feeling properly loose for the first time. “No plans whatsoever.”

Germany paid for dinner (psh, as if Prussia ever would) and they strolled through the park and back to the car. The drive home was quick enough and Prussia was glad to kick off her heels as Germany prepared coffee and dessert. She was on the couch in front of the TV and he placed the tray on the coffee table. The sports channel was on.

“… Maybe we should refrain from football tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s just, you know, the opposite of relaxing.”

“Oh,” Prussia wrinkled her nose. Made sense. It would be pretty stupid to end a date night by yelling at the screen and sobbing at missed goals. She surfed the channels and settled on some old movie. As she nestled against Germany, she grinned up at him.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“You should just admit you don’t want to see the River Islanders beat the Red Shorts’ ass into the ground.”

Germany arched a brow at her, unimpressed.

“Don’t trash talk when you know full well your team can’t even _compare_. Now stop talking football or we’ll start strangling each other.”

“Make me.”

He gave her a look but smiled as he leaned in to shut her up. The kiss was brief but it served its purpose. They shovelled down cake and coffee, talking through the movie as per usual (he didn’t know why he watched movies without Prussia anymore – he was, sadly, an admitted MSTer and it was wholly her fault that he couldn’t help but toss around commentary) and by the time it was done, it was late and they were both drowsing.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “Bed time.”

“Carry me.”

“If you want me to accidentally drop you.”

“Chyeah. ‘Accidentally’ he says.”

Nonetheless, it made her stand and he led her up the stairs with her eyes closed. In front of her room, he’d expected them to part but for some reason he was rooted to the spot. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes, waiting for whatever it was he had to say.

“Trying to give me a goodnight kiss?” She asked, sleepily amused.

“No, well…” Germany rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose this is kind of late, but… You looked very,” he coughed once. “You were great.”

“I know I was,” Prussia said with that self-satisfied grin of hers and it made Germany feel both hopeless and endeared despite himself. She encircled his waist with her arms and leaned in for a peck. “I’m sleeping over tonight, so make sure my pillow is extra fluffy.”

“Of course,” he shook his head, smiling all the same. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”

“We both know what I think about you, so we can skip that part,” Prussia yawned slightly. “Okay, fine, you’re priority number one on this end but that’s been obvious since forever. Anyway, in light of your progress at being a functional social creature, I guess it’s all right for me to tell you that we’re having sex tomorrow morning.”

She winked at him before she disappeared into her room.

A moment or two passed before Germany let out a sigh. He turned to return to his room when her voice called out, muffled through the door.

“… Extra! Fluffy!”

Of course.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled as he grabbed an extra pillow from the closet.

**Author's Note:**

> The River Islanders are [SV Werder Bremen](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werder_Bremen) and the Red Shorts are [Hamburger SV](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hamburger_SV).


End file.
